Rex's Las Vegas Lists
(Pictured Above: Throngs of people crowd the streets of “The District” in Henderson)
I almost got trampled while taking that photo. They desperately need some cops in riot gear to work crowd control in that town.
Anyway …
The Los Angeles Times has a “Vegas Blog”. Then again, who doesn’t?
It’s called “The Movable Buffet: Dispatches from Las Vegas”, and it is written by a guy named Richard Abowitz.
I always thought that there was something a little off about that blog.
And yesterday it became clear why that is.
Forget for a moment that the title of the blog makes no sense … their “Vegas Blogger” doesn’t even live in Vegas.
Hell, not only does he not live in Vegas, but he is damn proud not to live there.
So where does he live?
In that black hole of humanity known as “Henderson”, where the suicide rate is low because committing suicide and living in Henderson is redundant.
I hate Henderson with a purple passion.
Every goddamn street has a cutesy name (usually with the name “Horizon” in it), and the streets don’t go north/south/east/west like a normal town. They go in arcs and circles to try and prevent you from getting out of Stepford-esque hell.
You can check out of Henderson any time you want, but you can never leave … because the stoplights are 8 hours long, Minivan Maude doesn’t go on green because Shitney just dropped her Big Gulp, and the street you are on will eventually bring you back to where you started if you happen to blink and miss the freeway exit.
So, here was yesterday’s eye opening column from “The Movable Buffet“:
Like many people, I try to support my local community. Of course, unlike most people, my local community is literally built around a casino (Green Valley Ranch), which I live across the street from.
There is no “local community” across the street from the Green Valley Ranch. Just a bunch of tragically wannabe hipsters who would never survive in a real city, therefore they try to be “urban” in the middle of the fucking desert by creating a manufactured movie-set of a city and give it some happening sounding name like “The District”.
When I eat out, I am usually at one of the many restaurants at the District, a retail shopping area surrounding the casino.
I rest my case.
My groceries come from the Whole Foods across from the casino;
That’s because you are a twat.
it is not unusual for a bus full of tourists to be at my local grocery store while I shop, getting supplies as a scheduled break from their sightseeing.
The tourists come to your neighborhood to get a break from sightseeing, and instead go twat-seeing. And you’re the main attraction. It’s not a coincidence, they are following you.
But that does not mean I live in Las Vegas.
The idiots at the LA times are the only people that have ever accused you of living in Las Vegas.
I live in Henderson.
Because you’re a twat.
To be more specific, the part of Henderson where I live is known as Green Valley.
I take my previous statement back. You are a super-twat.
From the parking lot of the grocery store you can see the Strip off in the distance.
Look Buffy, Katlyn, Cody, Kaitlyn, Dakota and Katelyn! Out there! Civilization! Oh, I do wonder what it’s like …
But that is an illusion based on the size of the major resorts. The Strip is actually quite a few miles away from where I live.
No shit. If it makes you feel any better, we point out toward the southeastern mountains and say “That’s where the twats live”.
Many of the people in my neighborhood work on the Strip and therefore are very savvy customers when they shop, gamble and hang out in the District or at Green Valley Ranch.
“Savvy” and “The District” don’t belong in the same newspaper … let alone the same sentence.
The result is a series of unspoken but assumed rules that differentiate the area around a local neighborhood casino from one geared to tourists.
Honky, please. Who are you trying to kid? Henderson doesn’t have any “unspoken rules”. A place has to be relevant to have “unspoken rules”. This is the only unspoken rule in Henderson … “Please kill me, I live in Henderson”.
I ran into one example of that this weekend when a friend and I went to the restaurant P.F. Chang’s at the District.
Ooooooooooooh. “Changs”. How exciting, dangerous, and ethnic-sounding! (without the threat of seeing any real ethnics.) Scandalous!
My friend lives by the $20 rule.
Now we know how much it costs to get blown in Henderson, but Henderson BJ’s just aren’t Vegas-quality.
On the Strip, if a valet lot is full, she slips the valet parker $20.
WOW! I bet that impresses the living fuck out the folks back in Henderson. You get a spot when the riff-raff can’t … she’s sooooooo …. NAUGHTY!
Oh … my …. god. You Henderson folks and your $20 bills, like …. RULE the town when you come slumming over here.
A space then becomes available for her car. If she does not like her seats at a show, she slips the usher $20. And, of course, if a restaurant says there is a wait, then she whips out $20.
Have her slip me a $20 and I’ll whip out something a little more fun.
We both knew there would be a wait at P.F. Chang’s on Saturday night.
Hell yeah. Everyone in The District wants to get a glimpse of the only Chinese guy in Henderson.
“We won’t have to wait,” she said. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle the situation.” I begged her not to try her $20 game. “This is my neighborhood,” I said. “It is embarrassing to do that here.”
Yeah, Bitch … what will the neighbors think?!
He buys avocados at Whole Foods with that other douchebag over there.
If he sees you whip out a $20 bill, that guy is totally not going to invite Richard over to watch American Idol … let alone let him use his iPhone to vote for his favorites.
My friend thought she knew otherwise. And so we arrived at P.F. Chang’s. The hostesses were surrounded by customers who were waiting for their turn in the restaurant. Many families were there, waiting and trying to keep the children under control.
Let’s move to the far-flung suburbs, then complain about the kids!
We were told the wait for a table for two would be over an hour. My friend pulled out her wad of $20 bills and commenced negotiations. Nothing helped.
Face it, she’s not getting any younger and her tits are sagging. $20 used to cut it, but she’s going to either have to get a boob job, start carrying a wad of $50s, or get a set of knee pads.
“That always worked before,” she said.
I rest my case.
We were walking through the District looking for any place to eat without a wait. “Isn’t this Las Vegas?”
Noooooo, it’s not Las Vegas! It’s Henderson. Nobody I know would EVER get the places confused.
Tulsa, Oklahoma has more in common with Vegas than Henderson does.
I commiserated with her as best I could.
I really hope you wore a condom. You need to start wondering where all of those $20 bills are coming from.
I am sure that approach would have worked at the P.F. Chang’s near the Hard Rock, I offered.
Yeah, we accept money down here in the ghetto … go figure.
But at the end of the day, despite having a casino at the center of the community, once you get away from the tourist corridor $20 buys a lot less.
That’s because nobody wants your money in Henderson. What they really want is for you to decapitate them with an African circumcision sword to put them out of the misery of living in Henderson.
